Adult Child, Dead Child Short Script

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Adult Child, Dead Child ­ By Claire Dowie
When you are a child and you don't get any love, when there is no love. When you get this feeling that you can't explain; this feeling inside you
but you can't explain. You don't know what it is; you can't say it's a lack of love because you don't have those words.
You only have the feeling but you don't have the words; those words that say nobody loves me ­ I am unloved. All you have is the feeling.
And the feeling is an empty feeling, a hole in your stomach. You feel this hole in your stomach that you can't explain because you don't have
the words ­ only the feeling; the empty feeling.
And the feeling hurts. You hurt because you can't explain; you feel hurt and frustrated that there is no love and you can't explain. You feel
trapped in your feelings.
Trapped in your feelings of hurt and frustration and lack of love; lack of love that makes you want to hit out.
Clean house, tidy house.
Nothing out of place ­ except me.
Can't seem to please them, can't win for losing.
My mother despaired of me ­ I despaired of me.
My sister was an angel, never put a foot wrong.
Always clean, always tidy.
A perfect child, a joy to behold.
The cupboard under the stairs and eye for eye and tooth for tooth punishments.
My parents were great believers in `see how you like' eye for eye and tooth for tooth punishments.
I was never abused, not what you would call an abused child. Not abused.
Everything I got I deserved ­ except the cupboard, the cupboard under the stairs. I never locked anyone in a cupboard, but my parents did.
I remember when we moved I was about eight and my sister and I went to stay with friends of my parents for a week, probably to get us out
of the way while the moving was sorted out. The friends of my parents had a son called Andrew, who was I think, a couple of years older and
when nobody was around me he'd punch me and pinch me. His parents wouldn't believe me.

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Before we moved I asked my mum where London was and she said it was hundreds of miles away. I was very worried about it, staying with
these friends of my parents and Andrew. A hundred miles is a long way to run when you're eight.
I remember being very relieved that there wasn't a cupboard under the stairs in our new flat in London. Then I found out that there was a
broom cupboard which was much smaller.…read more

Page 3

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Stupid. Benji was still there, I could hear her, I could feel her, she talked to me, I played with her and we did things
Little things, easy things. So what if that ornament got broken? It just sat there anyway, didn't do anything and if they asked me, well I dunno,
wasn't me. I was nowhere near it, and what money? I don't know anything about any money. And so what if my sister lost her charm bracelet.…read more

Page 4

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Will you stop that Benji stuff, it was you.
No it was Benji.
Look it was you, now just stop it, you're too old for all that rubbish.
But she did.
I was too old for imaginary friends but Benji was still with me, even so I got the blame, and the cupboard for telling lies.
And so it started.
Slowly, a little bit at a time, a little more each day.…read more

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Mr Kent said I was an idiot. I was proud of my toast rack. Mr Kent said it was crap. Mr Kent said I was useless. Mr Kent said I
was a worthless specimen of a human being. Mr Kent went on and on till Benji jumped out and threw a hammer at him.
Everybody was further away from me. Everybody and everything way off in the distance. I couldn't connect at all, not at all. I didn't even know
how to try.…read more

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This feeling of hatred and mistrust for these people. These adults who had the power but wouldn't help so you
build a wall around you.
I didn't know anything about psychiatrists or mental health or anything; except what I'd heard and read and watch on television.
And then I had to see one; had to see a psychiatrist. Not for hitting my dad, but for hitting myself. Loony, mad, crazy.
It was mad, totally out of hand.…read more

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And my parents slowly stopped punishing me
My parents slowly stopped
And the school was tipped off and eased off
And my sister called me a loony when no one was around
And when the therapist asked if things were better I said yes
And they never asked about Benji
And then I stopped going to the psychiatrist
And the weeks passed and the time went round
And when Benji and I felt like travelling, we went
And I didn't get into trouble anymore
And…read more

Page 8

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You are
aware of the adult power and the lack of love and the anger grows and the wall gets stronger because frustration comes.
When I was seventeen I thought the best thing to do was get out, get away, leave home.
I had always been a disappointment to my parents, a waste of effort, now I was a waste of space.
They let me do what I liked, put up with me, made me feel guilty.
It would be better. I would feel better.…read more

Page 9

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And then I didn't. I had no job, no money, no friends. I sat in my bedsit like I sat in the cupboard. My parents were quite good. Sent me the
odd tenner through the post, but they never visited. I sat in my bedsit like I sat in the cupboard. Sat in my bedsit and slowly went mad in my
It started off fine, I felt good, relieved, relaxed. I had no television but I wasn't worried.…read more

Page 10

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But I do.
You shouldn't, it's ok. You were just letting off steam, that's all.
No it isn't ... its Benji.
I told him about Benji, I told him all about Benji. How she was, who she was, where she came from, everything. I told him about how I decided
to stop taking my medication weeks ago even though I knew I wasn't supposed to. I told him about my family, my real family, and my parents
always demanding perfection, always expecting everything.…read more



This is brilliant - so useful!



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